


bite my tongue, bide my time

by beskars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: EASY THERE LITTLE ONE, F/M, Fingerfucking, Light Dom/sub, Reader-Insert, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28208208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beskars/pseuds/beskars
Summary: Unfortunately, you had never been very sensible when it came to Boba Fett.
Relationships: Boba Fett & You, Boba Fett/Reader
Comments: 19
Kudos: 226





	bite my tongue, bide my time

**Author's Note:**

> hi pls come party rock with me on tumblr under the same username!

**bite my tongue, bide my time;**

Despite its familiarity, the sight of the Dune Sea was a thoroughly unwelcome one. Traversing it on foot was akin to walking through an open grave, each grain of sand beneath your feet shifting and giving way until you ached to succumb to it, to join the sun-bleached reliquiae jutting out from the knolls. Flying over the desert was nowhere near as terrifying, but even still, it filled you with unease to see nothing beneath but swells of orange littered with the occasional bantha skeleton. Nervously fiddling with the controls, you found yourself anxiously questioning whether you had adequate provisions in the event that your ship suffered a sudden malfunction and left you stranded in the vast nothingness below you. 

You breathed a sigh of relief as Jabba’s Palace came into view on the horizon, your worries beginning to ease away as you initiated the landing sequence before you caught sight of a familiar ship settled at the base of the mesa from which the towers rose. Though it looked a little worse for the wear than the last time you had seen it, there was no mistaking the oddly shaped assault craft. Everyone in the Outer Rim knew that ship, and had treated it with the same deference as they had the man it belonged to. A man who, by all accounts, had been dead for five years. 

There were two possibilities. The first was that someone had taken his ship and was pretending to be him. The second was that, against all odds, Boba Fett was alive.

You weren’t sure which possibility bothered you more.

“Son of a  _ mudscuffer _ ,” you gritted out, jolting forward slightly in your seat as your ship collided with the surface rather more violently than you had intended. 

Flinging the restraint harness off, you got to your feet and quickly drew your blaster from the holster on your hip, storming down the boarding ramp and setting off on the pathway leading to the entrance. As you drew nearer, you stopped abruptly, your brows scrunching together as you realized how unusually quiet it was. You could hear your unsteady breathing, the quiet scrape of sand beneath your boots, the distant cries of a lonely sandhawk. But the canyon itself was completely devoid of the raucous echoes that had once filled it.

Gripping your blaster tighter, you inched toward the doors, straining your ears to try to make out any sounds coming from inside, your frown deepening. There was no blaster fire, no clash of vibro-axes, nothing to signify you were about to enter a melee. You would have preferred the promise of a fight over the uncertainty of what lay ahead of you, but you gritted your teeth and edged through the entrance, making your way down the stairs as quietly as you could. It was something of a futile effort; your shadow could easily give you away even if your footfalls didn’t. But if you did manage to make it into the den before anyone happened to look up, the few extra seconds it bought you could be the difference between getting the drop on whoever was down there, and ending up sprawled across the steps like the Gamorreans at your feet.

As your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you could see the bodies of fellow bounty hunters scattered across the dais, and your employer — well, former employer, you amended — Bib Fortuna laying at the foot of it, bright red eyes staring up at you. Your breath caught in your throat as your gaze traveled up to the seat from which Bib appeared to have been unceremoniously flung from, a strange mixture of fear and excitement sparking in your chest as you took in the sight of Boba Fett settled onto the throne. A woman you recognized as Fennec Shand was perched beside him, a bottle of spotchka in one hand and a blaster in the other, which she quickly raised in your direction as you lifted your own weapon and struck the chimes dangling from the archway. 

“Did I miss the party?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as Fennec stood and took a step toward you.

“Not at all. Come and join the rest of our guests,” she replied, one corner of her mouth curving up in a mockery of a smile. 

“Wait,” Boba interjected, stilling her with one upraised hand. 

Offering you a disdainful look, Fennec dropped back down onto the arm of the throne, her eyes never leaving you as she took a long draught of spotchka. 

“I thought you were dead,” you said to Boba, stopping just in front of Bib Fortuna’s lifeless body.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he responded quietly, his moss green helmet tilting slightly to one side as he regarded you. 

His voice was rougher than you remembered. You wanted him to say your name, to hear how it would sound in his mouth with all those jagged edges.

“Well, at least your little vacation gave the rest of us a chance to earn some credits,” you told him wryly. “Though if I had known you were going to come back and kill my boss, I would have tried to save up a bit more.” 

He let out an amused huff from beneath the helmet. 

“You don’t seem too sad about me killing him,” he remarked, and you shrugged, resting one boot atop Bib’s chest as you stared up at Boba.

“I’m not,” you replied. “But I am sad that you didn’t wait to kill him ‘til after he paid up, considering I’m now out of work.”

“I’ll get you your credits,” Boba assured you, shifting forward slightly. “And I have plenty of work for you.”

“What’s the catch?” you asked, tucking your blaster back into its holster and folding your arms across your chest. 

“No catch. If you don’t want to work for me, you can go,” he answered, and you hesitated, appearing to mull it over.

“I’m not going to swear my loyalty to you,” you warned, stepping over Bib’s corpse and coming to a standstill just before the dais.

“It wouldn’t mean anything to me even if you did,” Boba replied dismissively, and you let out a short laugh before he continued, “and besides, you know what will happen to you if you try to cross me.”

You swallowed hard, your eyes flitting to the bodies on either side of the throne before locking onto the dark slash in his helmet and giving a nod. 

“I do,” you confirmed quietly.

He settled back, seemingly satisfied, before uttering a single word in response.

“Good.”

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

True to his word, Boba kept you in a steady supply of work over the following months. You were off-world so often that you started to feel almost relieved upon each voyage back to Tatooine, though you knew that had far more to do with the man awaiting your return than any sort of nostalgia for the desert planet. And despite the abundance of credits you found yourself in possession of, some foolish part of you wished he would stop giving you reasons to leave. The notion was so absurd that you could barely even allow yourself to admit it. After all, what sensible bounty hunter would complain about having more work than they could possibly dream of? 

Unfortunately, you had never been very sensible when it came to Boba Fett. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You had never considered yourself prone to idolatry, and even after hearing so many tales of his exploits throughout the galaxy, you had convinced yourself that he was nothing more than a man who happened to be very good at his job. Worthy of your respect, but hardly worthy of deification. It worked until you saw him for the first time, and realized that rather than being overly embellished, the stories you had heard about him hadn’t even come close to capturing what a force of nature he truly was. And from that day forward, you held his name in more reverence than you could have ever conjured for any god. 

Not that you would have ever let him know that. Despite spending the early days of your career fighting for scraps amongst the other Guild members and chasing bounties for little more than pocket change, you treated Boba with the same level of indifference as he treated everyone else. 

You watched from the corner as other hunters unsuccessfully attempted to provoke a reaction by goading him, brandishing their blasters as though they could ascend to a stratum occupied solely by him with their foolhardy displays of dominance. Sooner or later, most of them met their end in the rancor pit, though Boba was never the one that pushed them in. He didn’t have to. Their desire to get out of his shadow was so great that it drove them to recklessness, and when you were under the employ of Jabba the Hutt, the sort of mistakes that stemmed from that recklessness were enough to bring you to an unpleasant end. 

Others employed the opposite tactic, lavishing Boba with flowery praise and following him around like a herd of scurriers, hoping that their flattery would result in being granted a place at his side. Of course, that never happened. Everyone knew Boba Fett worked alone, and that wasn’t going to change just because someone complimented his marksmanship. You were pretty sure watching his sycophants get torn apart by the rancor would have made for a less painful spectacle, and considered pushing someone in several times just to save them the humiliation of being brushed off by him in front of the entire throne room. 

Instead, you did your best to feign indifference, hoping that you could force yourself to be as apathetic toward him as you pretended to be. You didn’t acknowledge his presence when your paths crossed at Jabba’s palace, you kept your expression neutral when someone mentioned his name, and you prayed that if you refused to feed your infatuation with him that it would eventually wither into nothing. It worked, until he noticed you. Until one day, his helmet tilted up slightly toward you as you descended the stairs into the throne room and he nodded, the movement barely perceptible in the haze. 

You ignored it, ducking your head down as you made your way to the corner furthest from him, only allowing yourself a small, shuddering breath once his visor had shifted towards Jabba. It meant nothing, you told yourself. He was just chronicling everyone who came and went, the same way you did from your perch in the shadows. The nod could have been in response to something Jabba had said, not necessarily directed at you. His gaze didn’t return to you for the remainder of the evening, and you told yourself you were relieved despite the dull ache of disappointment that settled into your chest. 

The next time you saw him, he did it again.

Again, you ignored him, retreating into one of the alcoves at the back of the room. This time though, his eyes followed you, and you saw others turn to look at you curiously as you folded yourself onto a cushion at one of the low tables, patently avoiding their stares. You felt like you were suffocating under the weight of his gaze, your cheeks prickling with heat as you tried to keep your hand from trembling around your glass of spotchka. Sipping it slowly, you kept your eyes fixed on the scratched pleekwood tabletop, and didn’t glance back up until long after he looked away. 

He seemed to take your determination to shun him as a challenge, and though his advances never went any further than nodding or looking in your direction, you found them increasingly difficult to evade. Partially because his behavior toward you had drawn attention from more than one set of eyes, and partially because you longed to nod back, to lift your head and meet his gaze through the dark visor in his helmet. 

The day you decided to give in was the day that he died. 

You hadn’t been aboard the skiff when it happened. A particularly troublesome quarry had led you off-planet, and when you finally returned to the palace, exhausted yet triumphant, you learned that your employer was carrying out executions at the pit of Carkoon. Impatient to collect your payment, you had elected to take a seat and await his return, only to shoot right back up as Bib Fortuna crept down the stairs, lightly touching the chimes with one claw-like finger as he entered the room. 

“Master Fortuna,” you acknowledged, bowing your head slightly. 

You watched in confusion as he silently brushed past you, slowly ascending the steps of the dais before sinking onto the throne with a satisfied sigh. Noticing your bewildered look, his lips drew back, revealing teeth that had been filed down into sharp points. 

“It seems the twin suns have smiled upon the two of us today,” he told you conversationally, languidly tapping the nails of one hand against the arm of the throne. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, your brow furrowing. 

“Jabba is dead. Boba Fett is dead. And you and I…” Bib trailed off, his red eyes shining in the dim light as he continued, “find ourselves presented with a rare opportunity.”

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You had taken a skiff out at the first opportunity, your heart hammering in your chest as you skimmed over the Dune Sea. When you reached the edge of the pit, you brought the craft to a halt, peering over the ledge into the maw of the sarlacc. Tightly gripping the handrail, you tilted forward, straining your eyes for any sign of Boba, a lump lodging in your throat when you found none.

“ _ Boba _ !” you screamed hoarsely, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. 

The sarlacc’s jaw snapped hungrily in response. 

You called for him until you could no longer scrape his name from your mouth. Your eyes stung with salt and sand, and it hurt to swallow. Letting out a long, shuddering breath, you pulled the skiff around and began the journey back. As you approached the palace, you wiped your tears away, reassembling your expression into one of calm indifference. It occurred to you as you disembarked that you had never even gotten to see his face. But there was nothing you could do about it now. 

Boba Fett was gone, and you had work to do.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Bib had turned out to be much shrewder than you had anticipated. During his time as majordomo, he had identified each shortcoming of Jabba’s, and made careful preparations to avoid falling prey to those same weaknesses. Jabba believed that the fear his acts of cruelty inspired kept him safe, but Bib knew that once that fear lost its efficacy, it would turn to hatred. Hatred was a dangerous impetus, and Bib was unwilling to find out what actions it might bring about if left unchecked. Instead, he positioned himself as a benevolent new ruler of the underworld, hoping that his acts of mercy would secure unshakeable loyalty from those he pardoned. 

But of course, not everyone could be spared. 

In the years that followed the battle at the pit of Carkoon, you found yourself in a peculiar position as Bib’s primary enforcer. You were still free to take on work of your own, and did so whenever you were able, but the disarray the galaxy had been left in after the Empire’s defeat meant that Bib never seemed to run out of assignments for you. 

He may have been more merciful than Jabba, but the rancor that lived beneath his throne room never went hungry. 

  
  


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Boba had been right. You hadn’t been any sadder to see Bib go than you had Jabba, though you did miss the assurance of your former position. It was much harder to feel as though you belonged upon the dais when it was also occupied by two of the most legendary bounty hunters the galaxy had ever seen, even if they had welcomed you into their ranks. Fennec slightly more reluctantly so, but she had gradually come to treat you with a begrudging sort of respect that made it that much more difficult to dislike her. 

You didn’t want to dislike her, but try as you did to control it, your jealousy had no master. 

Her relationship with Boba could have been the sum of a lifetime together for how comfortable they seemed around each other, and you envied it with an intensity that alarmed you. You watched from the periphery as they communicated almost wordlessly, tethered together by a bond that defied a bounty hunter’s natural inclination towards isolation. There was nothing to suggest their partnership was anything other than platonic, but there was some masochistic part of you that watched for any sign of affection that would confirm what you dreaded deep down. 

You searched for them in your exchanges with him, too. As laconic as he was, you relied on your ability to read his body language when he offered you little else. Though with almost nothing to go on, you were certain that you were just fabricating meanings behind each action and pause in his words in order to convince yourself that they communicated more than they really did. 

Sometimes, a nod is just a nod, and it means nothing at all. 

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


As had become your habit, you announced your arrival by touching the chimes hanging from the entranceway, producing a clatter of noise that made Boba look up from his quiet discussion with Fennec. 

“We’ll continue this later,” he told her as you approached the dais, and she got to her feet in response, giving you a curt nod of acknowledgment. “I have another assignment for you,” he added to you as Fennec ascended the stairs.

“Planetside?” you asked hopefully, tossing him the holopuck for your latest bounty.

He caught it in one hand and set it down on the armrest, watching you through the dark visor.

“Off-world,” he replied, and you let out a short huff of annoyance before you could stop yourself. “Is that a problem for you?” he challenged, leaning forward slightly, and you shook your head quickly.

“No,” you assured him before clamping your mouth shut as you dug the toe of your boot into a crack on the stone floor. 

“Out with it,” he said, and you felt your skin heat at the slight growl in his voice. 

“Nothing. It’s just—keep sending me off-world and I’m gonna start to think you hate me, Fett,” you joked weakly, regretting the words as soon as they fell from your mouth. 

He was silent for a moment.

“You want to stay here, on Tatooine?” he asked eventually, and you lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“Maybe just for a bit,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “My ship is in need of some maintenance.”

“I’ll send Fennec then,” he told you, and your heart jolted in your chest.

“Good,” you blurted out, your face burning with embarrassment as he let out a short laugh beneath the helmet. “I mean—I’m sure she’d like a change of scenery,” you added, catching your lower lip between your teeth nervously as he regarded you.

“You’re jealous,” he said knowingly after a moment, relaxing back into his seat.

“I’m not,” you shot back immediately, wincing at how unconvincing it sounded. 

He fell silent once more, and you were about to insist once more that you were anything but jealous when he spoke again.

“I know you came looking for me that day. I heard you calling out for me,” he told you quietly, and you stared at him in shock. 

“I should have done more than just that,” you whispered, your lower lip trembling slightly. 

“I was as good as dead,” he said harshly, his voice softening only slightly as he continued. “There was nothing you could have done.”

“Still. I’m sorry,” you offered, taking a step toward him.

“You came looking for me when you thought I was dead,” he began, his head tipping slightly to the side as he watched you, “but you would never look at me when I was alive.”

“I wanted to,” you told him, the words barely audible. “I was going to. That day, I was going to.”

“Isn’t that unlucky,” he said, sounding faintly amused. 

“I still want to,” you replied quietly, taking another step toward him, your boot resting on the bottom step of the dais. 

“Come here then,” he murmured, extending his gloved hand out to you. 

Grasping it, you ascended the stairs, your knees bumping against his as you looked down at him uncertainly. Curling his fingers around yours, he pulled you down to rest atop his legs, your thighs on either side of his. Slowly, he let go of you and reached up to lift his helmet off, setting it on the armrest beside your discarded holopuck. 

You took him in. The scars that furrowed his skin. The surprisingly gentle curve of his lips. The way his dark eyes caught the light filtering in from the stairwell. He allowed you to map his face, his jaw tightening slightly when you raised a hand to brush your thumb over his cheek. When he spoke again, the words sounded as though they were caught deep in his throat. 

“Now you’ve looked, what else do you want?” he asked, the roughened edges of his voice sending scintillas of heat through you. 

“This,” you answered, closing the distance between your faces and pressing your lips to his. 

His gloved fingers dug into your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as you kissed him, and you exhaled sharply in surprise against his mouth, drawing back just far enough to look into his eyes. They were darker now, hungrier, and you stared back at him in a daze before, gripping one of his broad shoulders to steady yourself before kissing him again. His lips parted, and you licked into his mouth tentatively, delighting in the soft groan you received in return. 

“What else?” he rumbled as you broke apart, and you hesitated for a moment before shifting slightly in his lap, letting out an unsteady breath as he clasped his hands together at the base of your spine. 

“Anything you’ll give me,” you whispered, swallowing hard as he watched you.

“Not here,” he told you quietly after a moment, glancing up towards the stairwell. “I don’t want any interruptions.”

You nodded, pressing your lips to his once more before reluctantly disentangling yourself from him, and he rose to his feet, tucking his helmet under one arm.

“Come with me,” he murmured, resting his free hand on your lower back, and you nodded again, allowing him to steer you out of the throne room and down a series of corridors that lead deeper and deeper into the underground complex. 

Finally, he came to a standstill in a narrow hallway, keying in a code on the panel beside the door before standing aside so that you could pass through the entry. His quarters were serviceable enough for someone more used to sleeping in a pilot’s chair than in a bed, the modest furnishings softly illuminated by the setla lamps in each corner. You turned to face him as the door slid shut once more, shivering slightly when he grabbed your chin and tilted your face up towards his to kiss you roughly. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue slid against yours, his fingers splaying over your hips and pulling you against him. Slipping one gloved hand beneath the hem of your tunic, he tugged it upward as he drew back.

“Take everything off,” he commanded, squeezing your hip before retreating to the bed in the corner and sinking down onto the edge of it, watching you expectantly.

You complied shakily, fumbling with the seemingly endless clasps and fastenings on your clothing that you could normally undo in seconds. When at last your final layers had joined the heap on the ground, you stepped over them carefully and made your way over to him, your breath hitching as the leather of his gloves skimmed over the backs of your thighs. Curling his fingers behind your knees, he pulled you down into his lap once more, taking you in with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Do you want the gloves on or off?” he questioned quietly, sweeping his hands up to your waist.

“Off,” you replied, your voice on the verge of cracking with desire. “Please.”

He nodded, removing them slowly before setting them down on the covers, then spread his hands atop your knees, pushing them up toward the cleft of your thighs. You drew in a sharp breath as he spread you open for him, one of his thumbs trailing down between your legs to brush over your clit, causing your hips to jump forward. Letting out a low laugh, he did it again, one of his fingers dipping into your entrance as you gave an embarrassingly needy whine. 

“You’ve wanted this for a long time, haven’t you?” he asked, holding up his finger to show you how it glistened with your arousal, and you bit down on your lip, nodding. 

“Yes,” you answered hoarsely, a broken curse falling from your lips as he ran his finger back through your slick folds before burying it to the knuckle in your heat.

He hummed in approval, his thumb pressing circles against your clit as he worked you open slowly, adding a second finger when you began to cant your hips forward. 

“ _Boba_ —” you gasped, gripping his shoulders, curling forward as his fingertips beckoned at something deep inside of you, something you could never reach on your own.

He groaned something you couldn’t quite make out in response, his movements growing more insistent as your legs began to shake, your breath coming in uneven pants as he brought you closer and closer to release. You jerked in his lap, clenching around his fingers as you came with a breathless curse before slumping forward against his chest plate, the beskar cool against your feverish skin. He slowly withdrew his hand from between your legs, watching with dark eyes as you grabbed his wrist and brought his fingers to your mouth to lick them clean. Grabbing you by the chin, he pulled you toward him and kissed you messily, licking into your mouth to taste the remnants of your arousal. Shifting beneath you, he motioned you up, and you shakily got to your feet, watching as he tugged his coarseweave underlayers down to mid-thigh before settling back down onto the bed. 

Licking a stripe up his palm, he took himself in hand as you watched, coating himself before lightly grasping your hip. 

“Come here,” he rasped, guiding himself inside you as you sank down, exhaling unsteadily as he filled you. 

You buried your face in his neck as he stretched you open, a desperate sob escaping your throat as he bottomed out, and felt his lips brush against your temple.

“Easy there, little one,” he rumbled against your skin, and you felt your face heat with a mix of embarrassment and pleasure at the mocking way he said it. 

Lifting your head up to look at him, you ground your hips down into his with a curse before lifting them and slowly sinking back down.

“There you go,” he murmured encouragingly, one hand tightly gripping your waist as you began to slide up and down on his cock. “Nice and easy, just like that.”

Letting out a whimper, you looped your arms around his neck, moving achingly slow as he watched you patiently. Your brow furrowed as you tried to quicken your pace, a frustrated noise welling up in your throat.

“Tell me what you want,” he commanded, holding you in place as you squirmed in his lap.

“I want you to fuck me,” you breathed out, and he gritted out a curse in response, his fingertips digging into you as his hips snapped up.

You gasped out his name as he began to thrust up into you, his jaw set in concentration as he returned his thumb to your clit, building a rhythm that left you clinging to him, your eyes squeezing shut as you fluttered around him. He fucked you through it, his movements stilling as you went boneless in his arms, dazedly lifting your gaze to meet his. 

“You’ll take anything I give you?” he questioned, taking your chin in one hand and giving it a squeeze as you nodded. “Then get on your knees.”

You did so unsteadily, clinging to his thighs for support as he took himself in hand once more, opening up and taking him down until your lips touched his thumb. He stroked himself twice more before letting out a groan as he came, his release filling your mouth, and you drew back slightly to show him how you had gathered it on your tongue before swallowing. Offering you one hand, he pulled you to your feet and craned up to kiss you, tasting himself. 

When you broke apart, you reached down to cup his cheek, your eyes lingering on him long enough to make him frown slightly with bemusement.

“What?” he asked quietly, slipping his fingers around your wrist.

“Nothing,” you replied, brushing your thumb across a scar beneath his eye before you leaned down to kiss him again.

“Just looking.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
